TAKE A CHANCE (Chance Colorado Series) (26 page)

Within minutes of Shayla’s departure, exactly as she’d predicted, the kitchen staff began to drift away until only a couple of people remained.

Logan filled his lungs and exhaled the stress that had built since he’d entered the building, relieved to continue his work out from under Shayla’s watchful eye.

The inspection progressed quickly, with no concerns of note. At this rate, he’d be back at the station by the time Allie called to check in. He glanced at his watch, reassured that she’d had time to reach Grand Junction by now and would likely be wandering through one of the stores she had planned to visit at this very moment.

Thinking of her enjoying her shopping trip almost made up for his disappointment that he couldn’t have gone with her. The timing hadn’t worked out, though, since he wouldn’t be off until tomorrow and she had to get her mom’s meds today. But the day wasn’t a total loss. She’d agreed to join him for dinner at the station tonight, so he’d still get a chance to see her.

“It’s all good,” he muttered, scanning over his checklist to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

He had almost finished when he noticed a cluster of what appeared to be liquid-filled gallon glass jars sitting on top of some high metal shelving. Normally he would have ignored storage items, leaving that sort of thing to the health inspectors. But these particular items fell squarely under his area of concern, since they were all tall enough that they butted up against the fire sprinklers. One had even been placed so that a sprinkler head hung down inside the jar. A definite violation he couldn’t ignore, but one he’d give any business owner a chance to correct.

“Fire code stipulates that you can’t store anything in a manner that impedes the function of the sprinklers,” he said to the young man cleaning the stove. “You’ll need to move those.”

“Not me,” the employee replied. “Chef Roberto stuck that stuff up there. No way I’m messing with anything of his.”

“Look”—Logan paused to read the name on his uniform—“Joey, we need to clear that shelf to meet fire code. Simple as that. I’m sure your boss would approve.”

“No way. Shayla might be fine with it, but she’s not the one who’d have to deal with Chef. That would be me. You don’t know what he’s like to work with. I’m not doing it. No one here in the kitchen will.” Joey bent back to the oven he was cleaning, clearly indicating that, as far as he was concerned, their conversation was over.

Frustrated by the unhelpful teenager, Logan started to mark the infraction on his sheet, but stopped, knowing he’d handle this situation differently for any other business in town. If he was ever going to be rid of his past with this woman, he had to deal with her exactly as he would anyone else.

“Okay, then. You got a stepstool somewhere around here?”

The kitchen staff might be intimidated by their chef, but Logan wasn’t.

“Only that little one by the walk-in,” Joey mumbled, his head still inside the oven. “But I wouldn’t touch any of that stuff up there if I were you.”

Logan retrieved the small metal stool and looked it over before dropping it in front of the shelf. It looked sturdy enough to hold him, though it only added about six inches to his reach. Either the chef was one giant of a man or there was a ladder around here this kid wasn’t telling him about.

Stepping up on the stool, he extended his arms above his head and hooked the very tips of his fingers onto the base of the first jar, inching it forward toward the edge of the shelf in short side-to-side jerks. The lip of the jar snugged up against the sprinkler and he shoved the base to the left, sloshing some of the liquid inside over the edge and onto his hands.

Please don’t let it be vinegar.

The thought of smelling like a salad for the rest of the day wasn’t appealing in the least.

The last shove brought the jar close enough for him to get his finger under the front and pull it forward, just as the skin on the back of his hands began to itch.

“What’s stored in these jars?” he asked, tightening his hold on the bottom of the glass as he at last edged it off the shelf.

A question he should have asked earlier, he realized too late.

In spite of his best effort, the wet glass slid through his grasp, tipping forward and dumping its contents on him. He jerked his head back, avoiding a direct-face hit, but his entire front, chest to knees, was soaked.

The itching in his hands intensified as the cold liquid pasted his uniform against his skin.

“What’s going on in here?” Shayla had returned, standing only feet away. “You’re soaked. What is that stuff?”

“Smells like that drain cleaner Chef was using yesterday,” Joey said. "I think he might have stuck it up on that shelf when he finished with it. He was in a pretty big hurry to get out of here."

“Oh, Christ,” Shayla said, dropping the folder of papers she’d carried and grabbing the buckle on Logan’s equipment belt. “You have to get out of those clothes. Right now. That crap is toxic. Caustic. Whatever you call it. It’ll burn right into your skin. You need to get that rinsed off of you before it’s too late!”

“What’s in it?” Logan asked, reluctant to peel out of his clothing here in the middle of the Golddiggers kitchen, in spite of the skin irritation he was already feeling.

“Roberto made up his own crap. Lye and… what was that other thing he said he used, Joey? Oh!” She snapped her fingers and grabbed for his belt again. “Sulfuric acid. Strip, Logan. This instant.”

Logan didn’t know a lot about chemistry, but what he did know convinced him he needed to get this stuff off of him as soon as possible. He made no protest when his equipment belt slid from his waist and dropped to the floor and Shayla began to push him forward.

“Use the dishwashers’ station. The hose is long enough to reach out onto the floor and you can hose yourself off. Don’t worry about the mess. Joey, go get one of the kitchen uniforms we’d give a new hire. Hurry up!”

By the time they reached the dish-washing sinks, Logan’s reluctance was gone. His hands felt like he’d run into a fire without his protective gear and his chest was beginning to itch just as his hands had.

“What the hell were you thinking when you took the lid off that jar?”

“There was no lid,” he told her as he stripped off his shirt. “All the jars are wide open.”

“Son of a… I should fire his ass the minute he walks in. I would if I didn’t need a halfway decent cook tonight. Oh—” She stopped speaking as he unzipped his pants and she turned her back. “You need any help over there?”

“I got this,” he assured her, grabbing the sprayer and turning the nozzle on full blast, allowing the cold water to blast over the front of his body. All that mattered right now was getting the chemicals off his skin before they did any real damage.

If she said anything else after that, he couldn’t hear over the rush of the water, and he didn’t bother to look back to see if she remained where she’d been. It didn’t matter to him whether she stayed or left.

He realized with a shock that his past with her no longer held any importance to him. None of her actions mattered to him anymore. He simply didn’t care what she did.

He didn’t care, that is, until he turned around and saw her holding his equipment belt in one hand and his cell phone up to her ear.

* * *

Few emotions tasted sweeter to the soul than accomplishment. So far, Allie’s day tasted like it had been made of pure spun sugar and dipped in honey.

She wore a smile that she could feel stretching her face as she left the big pharmacy and crossed the parking lot to her car. This was the sort of day that made all others fade into misty memory.

Logan had awakened her with an early phone call, inviting her to join him for dinner this evening at the firehouse. The knowledge that even on his duty nights he wanted to spend time with her warmed her heart.

Her drive to Grand Junction had been without incident, other than a fun sighting of a herd of elk wandering through one of the valleys she’d passed by. The natural foods store where Dulcie ordered her dried fruit had given Allie a moment’s concern when she’d arrived and they’d had to hunt for her cousin’s order. But they’d located the bags of specialty fruits at last and sent her on her way. She’d had a lovely lunch and two glasses of her favorite sweet tea. Even the pharmacy had cooperated, and she was in and out with her mother’s prescription much more quickly than she’d expected. At this rate, she’d be home in plenty of time to take a nice, relaxing bath and get all fixed up before dinner with her man.

Her man.
The words fairly sang through her mind as she slipped into her car seat and tossed her bag and purse into the seat beside her.

Her business was on the verge of turning a profit, her mother’s illness seemed to be moving toward remission, and she’d managed to find the one man in the world she might actually be able to trust.

“Life is good,” she announced to the world with a little chuckle.

She’d done everything she needed to do on her trip except for one thing. She’d promised Logan she’d give him a quick call when she was on her way home so he’d know everything was okay. He’d told her he worried about her and wanted her to check in. How lucky was she? Clever, handsome, a great cook,
and
he worried about her. The list of reasons why Logan O’Connor was the perfect man continued to grow.

She slipped her cell phone from her purse, remembering as she did that she’d forgotten to charge it. One check assured her that her battery was almost dead, but perhaps she could sneak in one more call before it pooped out on her. With a silent prayer to the telephone gods, she pressed the speed-dial button under Logan’s smiling face.

One ring. Two.

There was no way he wouldn’t answer. She’d called his work phone, just as he’d asked her to. As she knew all too well, he never missed a call on that phone.

Three rings.

“Logan O’Connor’s phone,” a feminine voice lilted from the little machine in her hand.

Logan’s phone maybe, but not his voice.

“Hello?” the voice said when she didn’t respond. “Anyone there?”

Not Logan, but a voice she recognized all the same. Shayla.

Time slowed to a crawl as shock seethed through Allie’s system. It tingled through her chest and tightened her throat, preventing her from doing anything other than listening to the sounds issuing from the little red piece of technology in her hand.

She listened as Shayla confirmed to someone — Logan? — that, yes, she’d answered his phone and that maybe he should put on some pants and come get it from her if he wanted it that damn bad.

Put on some pants?

Allie’s good sense returned at last and she pressed the button to end the call, holding it until her phone turned off.

Lightning wasn’t supposed to strike the same place twice, but it had. She’d lived through an almost identical phone call once before. She could just as well have been standing in front of a hospital in Texas as sitting in a parking lot in Colorado. Her life had just served up an enormous helping of hideous rerun.

Only this time, she didn’t feel the detached nothingness she’d experienced before. This time it hurt like hell. Pain lanced through her heart, ripped through her guts, doubled her over with the agony of realization.

No wonder he’d wanted her to call before she came back. He hadn’t cared about her. He’d only wanted time to make sure he didn’t get caught. Too bad he hadn’t been more careful with his phone.

In spite of what she’d thought, in spite of how she’d deluded herself, Logan was no different from Drake. No different from her father. The realization did nothing to lessen the pain buffeting her with every breath. If anything, knowing she’d allowed this to happen all over again only made it worse.

“Hold it together,” she whispered to encourage herself.

Just hold it together for a couple of hours. Just until she could get home, get into her room. There, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, there she could safely break down.

With shaking hands, she reached for her key and stuck it in the ignition. When she turned it, nothing happened.

“Of course you won’t start,” she said, her voice shaking as tears pooled in her eyes. “Why would I expect anything else?”

Deep, breath-stealing sobs clawed their way up from her chest. Large, salty drops rolled down her cheeks, plopping onto her lap as she cushioned her head against the steering wheel and gave in to the misery that threatened to crush her.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Doc Gillsap, the only medical doctor in the valley, had come as soon as Tanner had called. Logan hadn’t wanted to call the doctor. The whole incident hardly seemed worth the old man’s travel time all the way to Chance.

But now, almost two hours after the initial incident, Logan was grateful his friend had been so insistent. Even with the extra strength lotion their local store carried slathered on his skin, the itching on the back of his hands and at the very center of his chest had intensified to the point of serious discomfort.

“We need to get an antibiotic cream on the backs of those hands. That little spot on your chest, too,” Doc Gillsap said, wrinkling his nose as he tilted his head to see through his reading glasses. “I’m calling in a script for some pills that will help the itch, as well. Looks as though you got most of it off in time to avoid the worst of it, but you’re gonna feel this for a while, boy. Chemical burns are nasty buggers. They don’t really show the extent of their damage for a couple of days. If it gets any redder or blisters start to form, you call me right away, you hear?”